Life, actually…

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AT PLAY IN THE FIELDS OF SOMEWHERE ELSE

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Gather ’round, dwellers of the Down South village.

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In my personal South, I’ve spent many decades admiring those among us who get things done without exerting much energy.

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Used to be, when I’d enter a chain pharmacy to purchase edibles or toiletries or pharmaceuticals, I’d be greeted with a traditional “Good morning” and a “How can I help you?” exchange. The employee at the counter would take a moment to smile and offer assistance. Said employee would even rush from behind the candy-and-gum displays to personally direct me to the desired product.

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Not anymore.

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Today I duck past the automated doors and check my shopping list. I scan the orderly aisles and see no-one. All is calm and dim except for the looping post-Muzak music.

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I scrounge around trying to find one particular item but wind up back where I started, once more looking for signs of human life. A blinking automated check-out kiosk flirts with me but is clueless as to where things are.

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I hear a faint rustling behind the front counter. I peek around a six-foot chap stick display and spy a person below eye level. She is sitting slumped, staring raptly downward at her palm-held device. She giggles at whatever she is scanning.

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I clear my throat. “Ahem,” I say. (When was the last time you ahemed in public?)

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She looks up, sees me, stares silently. I say, “Could you direct me to…?” She points vaguely toward a back corner and returns her gaze to her lap.

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Hmm, I think.

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“Sorry, I’m not sure where that is. Can you help?”

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She sighs, reluctantly rising from her perch. I pretend helplessness just to see how much she is willing to exert herself for a customer.

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I actually get her to come from behind the counter and direct me down the appropriate lane. I graciously thank her and head to the far reaches.

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When I return to the front counter with items to purchase, the employee is once again in the land of electronic navel contemplation. She mumbles something about my using the auto-checkout thingy but I once again hope to test her abilities.

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“Sorry, I don’t have my glasses. Can’t see the instructions.”

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She does one more dramatic sigh and checks me out at the humanoid assistance booth. I make my usual  pleasant small talk–I enjoy engaging strangers in meaningless exchanges. It’s a Southern thing..

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In her firmly defined tradition, the clerk asks whether I want a receipt. I say Yes just to see her in some kind of motion. I am silently amazed that she gets paid to do this job.

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I obtain my receipt, grab my goodies, retrieve my change and head for the door, wishing her a nice day. She re-slumps and resumes existence in her virtual world.

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I wonder whether the day will come when I grow used to this not-so-brave new world.

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Or am I just being an old fogey?

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You don’t have to reply. I know the answer

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© Jim Reed 2023 A.D.